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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE EARTH CRY 

AND OrHER POEMS 



EAKTHCKY 

and other Poems 

By 

Theodosia Garrison 




J\íeiv Ybrk^ 
MITCHELL KENNERLEY 



Copyright, 19 IO, by Mitchell Kennerley 






For the privilege of reprinting the poems appearing in 
thís volume, the Author thanks the editors of Harper's, 
Scribner's, The Century, The Smart Set, Aínslee's, Lip- 
pincott's, The Delineator, The Metropolitan, The Cos- 
mopolitan, Munsey's, McClure's, The Bookman, Collier's 
Weekly, and others. 

ÊC1.A280549 



^ 



TO 

THE LOVELY MEMORY 
CF 

MARTHA JORDAN FISHEL 



THE CONTENTS 



'yHE Earth Cry 13 

The Prodigal 17 

The Neighbors 18 

^ A Prayer 20 

The Gifts of Gold 21 

The Faun 22 

Ballad of the Saint 24 

The Voice of Love 26 
The Garden of Faír 

Words 28 

'Toinette 29 

Old Friendship Street 31 

Ilicet 33 

Lovers 35 

We— Grown Old 37 

The Unh*ghted House 38 
Would it had been Mine 

Enemy 40 

Heroes 41 

The Unfepentant 42 

The Return 44 

Afterward 45 

New Roses 46 

The Child 47 



Conscience 49 

A Song in Autumn 50 

The Day is Come 51 
"Et in Arcádia Ego" 52 

Compensation 54 

Vagabonds 55 

The Sending 56 

The Book 59 

Saint Cecily 60 

A Song to Belinda 61 

How will it be? 62 

The Passing 63 

The Wife 65 

The Curé's Niece 66 

Lost Gifts 68 

Time 69 
AtColumbine'sWindow 70 

The HiUs 73 

Harvest 74 
The Ballad of the Angel 76 

lUumination 78 

Pan 79 

A City Voice 81 

Love Lore 83 



7 



THE CONTENTS 



Lost Summer 84 

The King's Kiss 85 

AU Souls' Day 87 

A Book of Verses 88 

The Barred Door 89 

Exorcism 90 

The Aspen Tree 93 

The Welcoming 94 

A Woman 95 
The Ballad of the Scul- 

lion Maid 96 

A Wífe 99 

The Consoler 100 

Unconquered loi 

The Lost Land 102 

The Límping One 104 

A Prayer to Azrael 105 

The Memory loó 

The Exile 107 
The Ballad of the Com- 

forting 108 

A Parable 109 

The Victor iio 

A Song of Love 112 



A Book of Celtic Verse 113 

Two Creeds 114 

The Prisoners 115 

A Fable 116 

The Littlc Ghost 117 

Two Sins 118 

The Stranger 119 

Gathered Roses 120 

Irony 12 I 

The Unforgotten 122 

A Prayer to Love 123 

A Fading Rose 124 

Unshriven 125 

A Memory 126 

The Last Gift 127 

The Pagan Soul 128 

Youth 129 

The Annunciatíon 130 

Recrímination 131 

The Mother 132 

A Rainy Day 133 

Knowledge 134 

A PrajTr 135 
The Wedding Bonnet 137 



8 



THE CONTENTS 



Labor 


138 


The Ballad of the 


The Spríng Call 


139 


Cross 147 


One Fight More 


141 


The Woman's Thanks 149 


The Penítent 


142 


A Ghost 151 


Amantíum Irae 


143 


The New Moon 152 


The Cloistered Rose 


144 


The Last Song 159 


Resurgam 


145 





THE EARTH CRY 



THE EARTH CRY 

{A Spirit and an Ançel] 

THE SPIRIT 

T T OW blue the sky is and how sweet the air ! 
Síster, is this a meadow where we stray? 
See where the blossoms break, and over there 

Surely a bird is singing. Yesterday 
I had not thought that Heaven was like this. 

THE ANGEL 

Now was it yesterday? 

THE SPIRIT 

I only know 
I have gone gently on f rom bliss to bh'ss ; 

I am too glad for laughter; nay, I grow 
Silent from very peace of comforting. 

Yet, sometimes, h'ke a memory of pain, 
A shadow of a grief, there seems to sting 

A vague, insistent sorrow, like a strain 
Of some lost melody that haunts and stays. 

13 



THE EARTH CRY 

THE ANGEL 

Men call it *' Fear o' Death." 

THE SPIRIT 

A thing less rife 
With fear it is, yet keener. 

THE ANGEL 

In the ways 
Of little earth men call it '' Love o' Life." 

THE SPIRIT 

*' Men call it ' Love o' Life'." Perchance so, I 
May not remember. Now the bird has ceased, 

How still it is ! How bluer than the sky 
These blossoms are! 

THE ANGEL 

Our feet bend not the least 
Light petal of them. Nay, why stay you, sweet ? 

THE SPIRIT 

Once I knew eyes as bine — / wonder where! 

Why, as I bent just now they seemed to meet 
My own again, and sudden strangely bare 

And empty seemed my arms! What means this thing? 

14 



THE EARTH CRY 

THE ANGEL 

i may not say. 

THE SPIRIT 

I am so happy — yet 
Somethíng withín me seems to turn and clíng 
To some past joy I might not quite forget. 
Hark! Heard you nothing then? 



THE ANGEL 



I heard not, I. 



Perchance a bird sang. 



THE SPIRIT 

Ah, ít was not gay. 
So sad ít was — a little wístful cry, 

A little cry from very far away, 
So weak, so pitiful. O, I would go 

Where the voice calls me ! 

THE ANGEL 

Sweet, it may not be. 

THE SPIRIT 

Hark! there it comes again. Ah, heard you? 

15 



THE EARTH CRY 

THE ANGEL 

No. 

Turn and forget. Are you not happy? See 
Where the path leads to newer, lovelier things 
That you have yet to find. Nay, touch my hand. 

THE SPIRIT 

O, must I follow? 

THE ANGEL 

As a bird that wings 
Its way from height to height, from touch of land 
To the blue distances of joy we go. 

THE SPTRIT 

How beautiful ít is! How bright the way! 
I know not what it was that hurt me so 
A moment sínce. 

THE ANGEL 

And are you happy? 

THE SPIRIT 

Yea, 
With a new peace, a comfort that was not 
Ali mine before. Sister, what means it, say? 

THE ANGEL 

That God is good and you have quite forgot. 

i6 



THE PRODIGAL 

\1 7HEN I carne to you banned, dishonored, 

Brother of yours no more, 
And raísed my hands where your roof-tree stands, 
Why did you open the door ? 

When I carne to you starving, thirsting, 

Beggared of aught but sin, 
Why did you rise with welcoming eyes 

And lift me and bid me in? 

You have set me first at your feast, 

You have robed me ín tenderness, 
Yet, Brothers of mine, these tears for sign 

That I would your grace were less. 

For I had not been crushed by your hate, 

Who courted the pain thereof; 
But you stab me through when you give anew, 

O Brothers, your love — your love ! 



17 



THE NEIGHBORS 

At first cock-crow 

The ghosts must go 

Back to their quiet graves below, 

A GAINST the distant striking of the clock 
I heard the crowíng cock, 
And I arose and threw the wíndow wide; 
Long, long before the setting of the moon, 
And yet I knew they must be passing soon — 
My neighbors who had died — 
Back to their narrow, green-roofed homes that wait 
Beyond the churchyard gate. 

I leaned far out and waited — ali the world 
Was like a thing impearled, 

Mysterious and beautiful and still; 

The crooked road seemed one the moon míght lay, 
Our little village slept in Quaker gray, 
And gray and tall the poplars on the hill; 
And then far ofí I heard the cock — and then 
My neighbors passed again. 

At first ít seemed a white cloud, nothing more, 
Slow drifting by my door, 

i8 



THE NEIGHBORS 

Or gardened lílíes swaying ín the wind; 
Then suddenly each separate face I knew, 
The tender lovers drifting two and two, 
Old, peaceful folk long sínce passed out of mind, 
And little children — one whose hand held still 
An earth-grown daffodil. 

And here I saw one pausíng for a space 
To lift a wistful face 

Up to a certain window where there dreamed 
A little brood left motherless; and there 
One turned to where his unploughed fields lay bare; 
And others lingering passed — but one there seemed 
So over-glad to haste, she scarce could wait 
To reach the churchyard gate! 

The farrier's little maid who loved too well 
And died — I may not tell 

How glad she seemed. My neighbors, young and old, 
With backward glances lingered as they went ; 
Only upon one face was ali content, 
A sorrow comforted — a peace untold. 
I watched them through the swinging gate — the dawn 
Stayed till the last had gone. 



19 



^ A PRAYER 

í ET me work and be glad, 

O Lord, and I ask no more; 
With will to turn where the sunbeams burn 
At the sill of my workshop door. 

Aforetíme I prayed my prayer 
For the glory and gain of earth, 

But now grown wise and with opened eyes, 
I have seen what the prayer was worth. 

Give me my work to do 

And peace of the task well done ; 

Youth of the Spring and its blossoming 
And the light of the moon and sun. 

Pleasure of little things 

That never may pall or end, 
And fast ín my hold no lesser gold 

Than the honest hand of a friend. 

Let me forget ín time 

Folly of dreams that I had ; 
Give me my share of a world most fair — 

Let me work and be glad. 



20 



THE GIFTS OF GOLD 

r^ESIRE of joy — how keen, how keen it is! 

(O, the young heart — the young heart in its Spring!) 
There waits adventure on the road of bliss, 

A challenge in each note the free birds fling; 
The spur of pride, the urge to climb and kiss — 
Desire of joy — how keen, how keen it is! 

Desire of tears — but this is sweet, most sweet. 

(O, the young heart — the young heart in its Spring!) 
That sits a little while at Sorrow's feet 

And tastes of pain as some forbidden thing; 
That draught where ali things sweet and bitter meet — 
Desire of tears — ah me, but it is sweet ! 

Desire of joy and tears — ah, gifts of gold ! 

(O, the young heart — the young heart in its Spring!) 
Once only are these treasures in our hold, 

Once only is the rapture and the sting, 
And then comes peace to tell us we are old — 
Desire of joy and tears — ah, gifts of gold ! 



■21 



THE FJUN 

T^HE Faiin that haunts my fountain 

Within the garden close, 
Is neighbor to the lily 

And comrade of the rose, 
And ali aboiít his dwelling place 

The great oaks toss their blows. 

The Faun that haunts my fountain — 

I hear his song ali day — 
A melody made whimsical, 

A careless note and gay, 
Mocking the bird that dips and flings 

His host a roundelay. 

The Faun that haunts my fountain 
Makes secret of what whim 

Led him from woods lonian, 

Through unknown paths and dim, 

To make an English garden 
The chosen home of him. 

The Faun that haunts my fountain — 

But I alone have guessed 
The reason of his coming, 
22 



THE FAUN 

The meaning of his quest: 
He seeks a vanished dryad, 
A nymph Pan loved the best. 

Fãun wíthin my fountain, 
Last of 5'our lovely race, 

1 know what makes my garden close 
Your fragrant dwelling place. 

* * * 

I saw who leaned above 3 our brink 
One noon to see her face. 

Faun wíthin my fountain, 
I watch yoii day by day, 

1 know your pagan ecstasy 
When Lydia comes your way, 

What time you stretch white arms to her 
And kiss her lips with spray. 



23 



BALLAD OF THE SAINT 

T^HE Little Cherubs whíspered, 

'* What strange new soul is this 
Who cometh with a robe besmirched 

Unto the Place of Bliss?" 
Then spake the Eldest Angel, 

** The robe he wears is fair — 
The groping fingers of the poor 

Have held and blessed him there." 

The Little Cherubs whispered, 

'' Who comes to be our guest 
With dust about his garments' hem 

And stains upon his breast? " 
Then spake the Eldest Angel, 

" Most lovely is the stain — 
The tears of those he comforted 

Who may not weep again." 

The Little Cherubs whispered, 

'* What strange new soul is he 
Who cometh with a burden here 

And bears it tenderly? " 
Then spake the Eldest Angel, 

" He bears his life's award — 
The burden of men's broken hearts 

To place before the Lord." 

24 



BALLAD OF THE SAINT 

" The dust upon his garments' hem- 

My líps shall bow to it ; 
The staíns upon the breast of hím 

Are gems thríce exquisite. 
O, little fooh'sh Cherubs, 

What truth is this ye míss, 
There comes no saint to F ar adis e 

Who cometh not like ihisT 



25 



THE VOICE OF LOVE 

TT was Love who called me, a morning ín the meadow, 
"Come out, sweethearti Come out, sweetheart, the 
Spring is in the land. 
Ali the world is wonderful with dappled sun and 
shadow, 
Here I wait with happiness held closc in either 
hand." 

O, I brake my spinning off, 

Eager to be free. 
Duty frowned beside the wheel, 

" Do thy work! " quoth she. 

It was I.ove who called me at noontide in the greenwood, 

"Come out, sweetheart ! Come out, sweetheart, and in 

the silence rest! 

Take thine ease beneath the leaves as softly as a queen 

should, 

Both my arms about thee and thy head upon my breast." 

O, I raised my weary head, 

Longing wistfully: 
Duty set the wheel astir, 

" Do thy work ! " quoth she. 
26 



THE FOICE OF LO FE 

Through the gloom of tvvilight the nesting birds were 
calling — 
Síck at heart I turned the wheel whom none might sum- 
mon more, 
When, like toiích of rain in May, carne sound of swift 
feet falling, 
And lo, Love stood beside me where Duty was before! 

" Since thou wouldst not at my call, 

Sweet, I come to thee. 
I am here to turn thy wheel 

And aid thy task," quoth he. 



27 



THE GARDEN OF FAIR WORDS 

/VA Y friend lay stricken sore and at his side 

Loudly my love and loj^alty I cried, 

Boasting of ali that I would do and dare 

For him whose welfare was my only care; 

Yea, called High Heaven to witness if I lied, 

And while I still protested my friend died. 

Last night in dreams I watched two angels go 
Through some fair garden that I seemed to know; 
Burdened with blossoming bowed every tree, 
And murmured one, *' If these but blossoms be, 
Judge when the moon of harvestíng dips lows, 
How wonderful the perfect fruit must show! " 

To which the other smiling answered, " Nay, 
This is the Garden of Fair Words men say ; 
A barren blossoming that may not give 
Of any fruit that Love may eat and live." 

And smiling both, they went iipon their way. 

* * * 

But I awoke and hid my face from day. 



28 



'TOINETTE 

O HE ís so old she may not spin; 
AU day she sits here in the sun 
And speaks no word. The children play 
Across the threshold, oiit and in, 
But I, 'Toinette, the críppled one, 
I sit besíde her day by day. 

The village folk go to and fro, 

And nod and smile, and sometimes, too, 
The cure stays and chats with me. 
She ís so old she does not know, 
Although we say her name anew 
And call her gently, I and he. 

The parish poor we two, and yet 

The cure says, " God's children we," 
And strokes my hair and goes his way. 
Then carefully, lest I forget, 

I think his words again — and she 
Knows what my silences would say. 

Sometimes I touch her hand and tell 
How the sun sets, or on the green 

How the girls dance. No word I say, 

29 



'TOINETTE 

Yet do I think she heeds me well. 
I dare not speak lest, having seen, 
The children mock me in their play. 

And sometimes, though she never speaks, 
I know she tells me of the days 
When she too was a little maid ; 
And once were tears upon her cheeks, 
And clasped her hands as one who prays. 
And I — I knew for whom she prayed. 

Rare comrades we. And ali day long 
I sit beside her in the sun ; 

The others wonder as they go — 
She is so old and they so strong: 
Yet I, 'Toinette, the críppled one, 
More than they understand I know. 



30 



OLD FRIENDSHIP STREET 

T OVE led me to an unknown land and fain was I to go ; 
From peak to peak a weary way he lures me to and 
fro; 
On narrow ledge and dizzy height he dares my way- 

worn feet — 
I would that I were back again to walk Old Friendship 
Street. 

It's there one knew the levei road, the even grass-grown 

way; 
My brain grew never wildered there, my feet might never 
stray ; 
But here I quarrel for the path with every soul I 

meet — 
I would that I were back again to walk Old Friendship 
Street. 

It's here I fínd no gracious hand to close within my own, 
But there one never raised a song to find he sang alone; 
And always at a neighbor's hearth were kindly glass 

and seat — 
I would that I were back again to walk Old Friendship 
Street. 



31 



OLD FRIENDSHIP STREET 

Vm síck of awful depths and heights, Fm sick of storm 

and strife; 
ril let Love lead for bolder folk and take my ease in life. 
I know whose voice wíU hail me first, whose welcoming 

be sweet — 
It's I am going back again to walk Old Friendshíp 
Street. 



32 



ILICET 

[A. G.] 

T THINK the gentle soul of hím 

Góes softly in some garden place, 
Wíth the old smile time may not dim 
Upon hís face. 

He who was lover of the Spring, 
Wíth love that never quite forgets, 

Surely sees roses blossoming 
And violets. 

Now that his day of toil is through, 
I love to think he sits at ease, 

With some old volume that he knew 
Upon his knees. 

Watching, perhaps, w^ith quiet eyes 
The white clouds' drifting argosy; 

Or twilight opening flower-wise 
On land and sea. 

He who so loved companionship 
I may not think walks quite alone, 

33 



ILICET 

Failing some fríendly hand to slip 
Within his own. 

Those whom he loved aforetime, still, 
I doubt not, bear hím company; 

Yea, even laughter yet may thrill 
Where he may be. 

A thought, a fancy — who may tell? 

Yet I who ever pray it so, 
Feel through my tears that ali is well ; 

And this I know, — 

That God is gentle to his guest, 
And, therefore, may I gladly say, 

"Surely the things he loved the best 
Are his to-day." 



34 



LOVERS 

T THINK perhaps my heart would be less sore 
If I need not look on lovers any more ; 
If Wínter only lasted ali the year, 

And one could sit alone in thoughtless peace 
Beside the chimney-place, and only hear 
The wínd-voice in the open sing and cease, 
And gaze toward the frosted pane to know 
That ali beyond was loneliness and snow. 

But O, the Springtime when the birds are rife 
And ali our little village wakes to life, 

And everywhere Spring bids them come again, 

As it does roses — ali the lovers new ; 
The stalwart lads who bear themselves like men, 
The wistful little maids, half women too. 
I wish it were not mine to watch them meet 
And note the lingering hands, the halting feet. 

I wish I might not guess what words they say, 
Nor what her eyes mean as she turns away. 
I wish I did not know how ali day long, 

Busied about her little household cares, 
Her thoiights are music and her heart a song — 
A harmony of ali Love dreams and dares. 
I wish I might not think, when day grows late, 
How she will Ican and listen at the gate. 

35 



LOFERS 

God knows I would not have their happiness 
A lesser thing or strive to make it less ; 
Only I wish it were not mine to dwell 

So close without the gates of Paradise ; 
Only I wish I did not know so well 

The tenderness that springs in meeting eyes. 
I think perhaps my heart would be less sore, 
If I need not look on lovers any more. 



36 



WE—GROWN OLD 

T WHO yesterday was young, 
^ Now am old instead; 
Ali of youth a glad song sung, 

Ali a story said. 
It was love who sang the song, 

Love the story told. 
Ah, but we remember long, 

We, grown old. 

Only yesterday I quaffed 

Life's enkindling wine; 
Only yesterday I laughed 

Youth's light laugh divine. 
It was love who played the host, 

Brimmed the cup of gold. 
Ah, but we remember most, 

We, grown old. 

Only yesterday my eyes 

Held Love's marvelings ; 
Nay, ít is not Time that flies — 

Love alone has wíngs. 
Time plods slow, in very Iruth; 

Love — what man may hold ? 
Ah, we know who filched our youth, 

We, grown old. 



37 



L 



THE UNLIGHTED HOUSE 

OVE carne to the Unlighted House 

When ali the world was dark and mute 
As some dust-covered, stringless lute ; 

The bare trees shivered in the cold — 
Poor trees that once knew flower and f ruit ; 
On either hand lay heaped the snow 
When silently as cravens go, 

Love carne to the Unlighted House. 

Love carne to the Unlighted House — 
The windows stared like dead men's eyes 
Set wide in unexplained surprise 
Unkindled by the soul within ; 
The wide door closed on secrecies; 

There carne no sign to greet this guest 
When in that hour unloveliest 
Love carne to the Unlighted House. 

Love carne to the Unlighted House 

And raised the latch and entered there, 
And room on room was coldly bare ; 

Cold ashes whitened on the hearth ; 
The dust lay white on floor and stair; 
The silence threatened and appalled 
When thus, unwelcomed and uncalled, 
Love carne to the Unlighted House. 

38 



THE UNLIGHTED HOUSE 

Love came to the Unlighted House — 
A guest who tarríed on his ways 
Too many níghts, too many days — 
A guest despaíred of and forgot. 
Time hastens whílst a god delays. 
To empty rooms and desolate, 
Penitent, wístful, over-late, 

Love came to the Unlighted House. 



39 



WOVLD IT HAD BEEN MINE ENEMY 

\A70ULD it had been mine enemy 

Who carne a secret way — 
O, but the door that waits a friend 

Swings open to the day. 
There stood no warder at my gate 

To bid Love stand and stay. 

Would ít had been mine enemy 

In open fight and great — 
'Gainst the Belovéd who goes armed 

In strength inviolate, 
Or dreads lest in his hands he bear 

The hungry blade of hate? 

Would it had been mine enemy 
Who mocked to see me low — 

Better ali anger than this thought 
Love left to scar me so, — 

My heart was naked to his hand, 
His hand who gave the blow ! 



40 



HEROES 

\17HEN I think sometimes of what wondrous fame 

Hath fallen iipon men of noisy deeds, 
Of laurel flung for every drop that bleeds, 
And grateful natíons busy with a name, 
I turn to those who, deaf to praise or blame, 
Labor ín silence for their brothers' needs, 
Sowíng in darkness those immortal seeds 
One day to blossom in men's souls like flame. 
Ah, these unrecognized, unhailed, denied, 
These heroes of what land or age they be, 
Who mutely anguish at the task undone, 
These wonderful white Christs, not crucified 
On a high place for ali the world to see, — 
But striving on, unnoted and alone! 



41 



THE UNREPENTJNT 

]V[ OW my time has come to die, 

Good, my masters, hear, 
This a sinner's litany, 

Shocking to your ear: 
Life hath played for me to dance 

Up and down the line — 
(Eh, I paid the fiddler, sirs, 

But the dance was fine ! ) 

Love came swinging to my call — 

Black-eyed love and bold; 
Gave me scarlet lips to kiss, 

Both her hands to hold. 
Fast and faster fell oiir feet 

To the music's beat — 
(Eh, I paid the fiddler, sirs, 

But the dance was sweet!) 

I have danced it through the world- 

Ah, the merry tune! 
Danced the red sun down the West, 

Danced away the moon. 
Could I cavil at the price? 

Out on souls so mean! 
42 



THE UNREPENTANT 

(Eh, I paid the fiddler, sirs, 
But the dance was keen!) 

Beggared now, my masters ali, 

Cry your cold díspraise ; 
Raise your eyes and coiint your gold, 

Trudge your dreary ways. 
I, the pauper, richer far, 

Envy not nor pine — 
(Eh, I paid the fiddler, sirs, 

But the dance — was mine!) 



43 



THE RETURN 

T ONG, long he stood and watched alone 

Her líghted window-pane, 
As though it were Love's face that shone 
Upon his grief again. 

A vagrant in the village street, 
One with the rain and night, 

Bírd-like he felt his wild heart beat 
And burn against the Hght. 



44 



AFTERWARD 

T SAID, "The bitterness of grief is gone; 

^ Henceforward I will only think of her 
As one too glad for selíish tears to stir — 

A saint who touched and blessed me and passed on ; 
My angel evermore to bend and take 
My broken prayers to God for love's dear sake." 

"The bitterness of grief is passed," I said; 
Then turned and saw about me everywhere 
The dear, accustomed things her touch made fair; 
Her books — the little pillow for her head, 

The pen her hand had dropped, the simple song 
She laughed in singing when a note went wrong. 

I said, "The bitterness of grief is fled, 
Knowing a new saint walks in Paradise, 
With peaceful heart and quiet in her eyes. 
And this at last shall comfort me," I said. 

But O, this song she sang, this book she knew, 
This little pillow — must I brave them too? 



45 



NEW ROSES 

T^HE Old Love kissed you and went by, 
•^ Without the New Love stands 
With roses red to crown your head, 
New roses in his hands." 

I know not if she heard at ali ; 

I only know she bent 
Above the withered blooms she held, 

As one too well content. 

''In this j^our house grown desolate 

The chills of Winter cling ; 
The New Love waits without your gates 

To lead 5^ou back to Spring." 

I know not if she heard at ali; 

I only know she turned 
Her hands above the empty hearth, 

As though the ashes burned. 

The New Love singing went his way 
Across the blossomed lands — 

A little lad with Springtime glad 
And roses in his hands. 

I know not if she heard at ali ; 

I only know she pressed, 
As mothers might a little child, 

The dead rose to her breast. 

46 



THE CHILD 

T HEARD her cryíng in the night, — 
So long, so long I lay awake, 
Watching the moonlight ebb and break 
Against the sill like waves of líght. 

I tried to close my eyes nor heed 
And lie quite still — but oh, again 
The little voice of fright and pain 

Sobbed in the darkness of her need. 

Strange shadows led me down the stair; 

Creaked as I went the hoUow floor; 

I drew the bolts and flung the door 
Wide, wide and softly called her there. 

Ah me, as happy mothers call 

Through tender twilights to the gay, 
Glaã truant making holiday 

Too long beyond the evenfall. 

The garden odors drifted through, 
The scent of earth and box and rose, 
And then, as silently as those, 

A little wistful child I knew. 

47 



THE CHILD 

So small, so frightened and so cold, 
Ah, close, so close I gathered her 
Within my arms, she might not stir, 

And crooned and kissed her in their hold. 

As jnight a happy mother, when, 

Aghast for some quaint, trifling thing, 
One runs to her for comforting, 

And smiles ivithin her arms again. 

Ali night upon my heart she lay, 

Ali night I held her warm and close, 
Until the morning wind arose 

And called across the world for da3^ 

The garden odors drifted through 
The open door ; as still as they 
She passed into the awful day, 

A little, wistful child I knew. 

Think you for thís God's smile may dim 
(His are so many, many dead) 
Seeing that I but comforted 

A child — and sent her back to Him! 



48 



CONSCIENCE 



u^ 



A KNOCKING at my heart — and what art thou ? 
"I was the unforgíven; from your door 
You spurned me once and bade me come no more. 
I am the ever present suppliant now." 

A famine at my heart — and what art thou? 
"I was that Lazarus, of men the least, 
Whom once you sent anhungered from your feast. 

/ am the ever present hunger now." 

An aching at my heart — and what art thou ? 
"I was that love you chose once to deride, 
Who, wounded at your threshold, fell and died. 

/ am the ever present longing now," 

A sweetness at my heart — and what art thou? 
"I was the kíndly deed you quite forgot, 
The joy bestowed that you remember not. 

/ am your Angel of Forgiveness now" 



49 



A SONG IN JUTUMN 

A UTUMN, Autumn, give me of your crimson, 

Givt ít me for courage, for the year has left me 
meek ; 
And your crimson banners flying, as the sign of your de- 
fying, 
Shall dare my heart's denying the patience of the weak. 

Autumn, Autumn, give me of your yellow, 

Give it unto me for hope — the hope I could not hold; 

For where your gold is burning I feel the dream return- 
ing, 
The darling pain of yearning whose passing left me old. 

Autumn, Autumn, take me to your heart so, 

The bold heart, the singing heart whose strength shall 
make me strong; 

Send my healed life faring in colors of your wearing, 
Your gold and crimson bearing, against a grief too long. 



50 



THE DAY IS COME 

nr HE day is come that I knew must be 

(Nothing may trouble me any more) 
Love has looked on me wistfuUy, 

Kissed me and left me and closed the door. 

Free he went — as he entered free — 

But with him too went the dread I bore. 

The day is come I knew must be, 

Nothing may trouble me any more. 

Always I knew it must come to me — 
This time I have warded yet waited for, 

With a heart that broke at its certainty ! 

O, the joy and the hope and the dread are o'er! 

The day is come that I knew must be, 
Nothing may trouble me any more. 



51 



''ET IN ARCÁDIA EGO'' 

A SIMPLE print upon my study wall, 
"^ I see you smile at it, my masters ali, 
So simple it could scarce indeed be less — 
A shepherd and a little shepherdess 
Who let their sheep go grazing, truant-wise, 
To look a moment ín each other's eyes. 

"A gray-haired man of science," thus your looks, 
**Why is this trifle here among his books?" 
Ah, well, my answer only this shall be, 
Because I too have been in Arcady. 

My students give grave greeting as I pass, 
Attentive foUowing in talk or class, 

Keen-eyed, clear-headed, eager for the truth; 

Yet if sometime among them sits a youth 
Who scrawls and stares and lets the lesson go 
And puts my questions by, unheeding so, 

I smile and leave his half-writ rhyme unvexed, 

Guessing the face between him and the text. 
A foolish thing, — so wise men might agree — 
But I wrote verses once — in Arcady. 

The little maid who dusts my book-strewn room, 
Poor dingy slave of polish and of broom, 

52 



"ET IN ARCÁDIA EGO" 

Who breaks her singing at my footsteps' sound, 
She too her way to that lost land has found. 

Last night, a moonlit night and passing late, 

Two shadows started as I neared the gate, 

And then a whisper, poi^ed 'twixt mirth and awe, 
*'The old Professor. Mercy, if he saw!" 

Ah, child, my eyes had little need to see — 

I too have kissed my love — in Arcady. 

My mirror gives me back a sombre face, 

A gray-haired scholar, old and commonplace, 
Who goes on his sedate and dusty ways, 
With little thought of rosy yesterdays. 

But they who know what eager joy must come 
To one long exiled from a well-loved home, 

When fares some kinsman from that selfsame land 
To gíve him greeting — they may understand 

How dear these little brethren needs must be 

For that I too have lived in Arcady. 



53 



COMPENSATION 

DECAUSE I craved a gift too great 
For any prayer of mine to bring, 
To-day with empty hands I go; 
Yet must my heart rejoice to know 
I did not ask a lesser thing. 

Because the goal I sought lay far 
In cloud-hid heights, to-day my soul 
Góes unaccompanied of íts own; 
Yet thís shall comfort me alone, 
I díd not seek a nearer goal. 

O gift ungained, O goal unwon! 
Still am I glad, remembering this, 
For ali I go uiísatísiíed, 
I have kept faith with joy denied, 
Nor cheated life with cheaper bliss. 



54 



VAGABONDS 

/^OD gave unto the Philistíne, 
Who toils at desk and mart, 

The silver pieces broad and fine 
And broidered coat and smart, 
But gave, O brothers, for our part 

The roving foot and free; 

The children of the merry heart — 

Life's vagabonds are we. 

The elder son hath glowíng hearth 

And quíet home and house; 
The younger son hath ali the earth 

Wherein he may carouse. 

The elder son hís goodly spouse 
For once and ali has ta'en; 

Upon the yoiinger's tattered blouse 
More heads than one have laín. 

Then ho, for stirrup and for spur, 

Across the world — away! 
Nor pause to snatch a kiss from her 

We courted yesterday. 

'Tis some must dance and some must play, 
Some pay and some go free. 

God keep you, sírs, who stare and stay— 
Life's vagabonds are we. 



S$ 



THE SENDING 

'T^WAS God in Heaven who spake to Deatb 

That stood beside his knee: 
" O lover of ali men that live, 

Whose arms clasp land and sea, 
Find thou on earth the weariest soul 
And bear it hence to me." 

It was God's messenger who went 

Swift-footed on his waj^; 
Like flame he crossed the rim of night, 

Like shadow crossed the day, 
And as he passed the glad dead smiled 

As soothéd children may. 

It was God's messenger who sped 

Like blown w^ind through the spheres; 

Across the little paths of earth, 
With feet that no man hears, 

He reached the portal of that place 
That is the House of Tears. 

It was God's messenger who stood 
And watched with pitying eyes 
The burning tears of those who wept, 

56 



THE SENDING 

Who heard the broken sighs 
Of men who cried aloiid their griefs 
And mourned their miseries. 

It was God's messenger who spake: 
'' Not theirs the gift I bring. 

Behold the sorrow that is said 
Becomes a little thing; 

And there is solace in man's tears 
That is God's comforting." 

It was God's messenger who went 

The little ways of earth. 
The red moon smouldered in the clouds 

Like fire upon a hearth, 
And lo ! he carne unto that place 

That is the House of Mirth. 

It was God's messenger who heard 
The laughter and the cheer. 

The wine was red upon the board, 
The lights burned high and clear, 

And one laugh rang above the rest 
That joj-ed men's hearts to hear. 

It was Gods messenger who heard 

One voice above the rest — 
She who w^as gayest in the song 

57 



THE SENDING 

And quickest with the jest, 
And lo! he saw the broken heart 
That ached within her breast. 

It was God's messenger who bent 

And touched her tenderly: 
" Great is the anguish of a smile 

That shows where grief should be, 
And awful are the unshed tears 

That never man may see." 

It was God's messenger who spake 

That word that no man saith ; 
It was the poor soul on his breast 

That smiled in her last breath, 
" S trove I not well? — how didst thou know 

I was SC weary, Death ! " 



58 



THE BOOK 

T IFE, I have made a book of my místakes ; 
'^ Regret hath clasped and Sin hath blotted it 
And therein are my blunders clearly wrít. 

And therein do I find much knowledge hid — 
Wísdom that la5^eth hold of every sense 
With the strong grasp of grím experience. 

And would you study with me ? Nay, my fríend, 
Not one may read and benefit thereby 
In ali the world, not one — save only I. 



59 



SAINT CECILY 

T KNOW not what she sang, or if she sang — 
Only I know her fingers on the keys 
Touched the gold heart of ali glad harmonies 
Till ali my vibrant soul responsive rang; 
And on a sudden, through the darkened room, 

There seemed an instant's tremor in the air 
Of moving wings, and white against the gloom 

Soft faces bent to her, divinely fair; 
And somewhere were white roses, and there grew 

Above her lifted head a slender ring 
That glowed and vanished — and she rose, nor knew 

The reason of my awe and wondering. 

O, I have seen Saint Cecily, and I 

Have breathed her roses. I, her worshiper, 

Have seen the beauty of Saint Cecily 
When angels spake with her. 



60 



A SONG TO BELINDA 

O ELINDA in her dimity, 

Whereon are wrought pink roses, 
Trips through the boxwood paths to me, 

A-down the garden closes, 
As though a hundred roses carne, 

('Twas so I thought) to meet me, 
As though one rosebud saíd my name 

And bent its head to greet me. 

Belínda, in your rose-wrought dress 

You seemed the garden's growing; 
The tilt and toss o' j^ou, no less 

Than wínd-swayed posy blowing. 
'Twas so I watched in sweet dísmay, 

Lest in that happy hour, 
Sudden you'd stop and thrill and sway 

And turn into a flower. 



6i 



HOW WILL IT BE? 

LJOW will it be when Spring comes back again, 
Golden with sun and musical with rain? 
I can be brave when snowdrift fiUs the air 
To know Love dead ; content that I may share 

My sorrow with the gray world's patient pain. 

Nay, 1 forgot, O foolish heárt and vain, 
That some day ali of sunshine everywhere 
Would clasp and kiss the earth to make it fair — 
How will it be when Spring comes back again ? 

Love in my heart so many months hath lain 
Like some dead flower that the frost hath slain, 
I am afraid lest some delicious day, 
Lo, he may quicken in the flower's way, 
When May's white magic 'wilders soul and brain — 
How will it be when Spring comes back again ? 



64 



THE PASSING 

**TS thís a time for setting forth — 

The driven clouds hang low, 
A wolf-wind howls from out the North 

Across the wastes of snow?" 
" Nay, kíss me on my mouth, true wife, 

The hour is come to go." 

" But go you out to fight, my Lord ? 

Your men-at-arms sleep ali — 
And go you without horse and sword 

To meet your foeman's call?" 
" I bear another weapon, wife, 

Stiíí íingers let not fali." 

"But go you fasting, Lord of mine, 

Ere yet the feast be spread ?" 
" The Priest shall touch my mouth with wine, 

My lips with broken bread, 
That in that far place where I fare 

My soul shall go full-fed." 

" And whither leads the path, my Lord, 

That you would take alone?" 
" It leadeth to a silent ford 

63 



THE PASSING 

Unseen of moon and sun." 
" And shall one point the way to you? 
"Aye, one and only one." 

" And whoso is the foe that stands 
To give you battle there?" 

" One with no weapon in his hands 
And with his body bare, 

And in his eyes the selfsame look 
My saddest sin may wear. 

" Now lay the cross in my two hands, 

And bid the Priest begin, 
Seeing I fare to Death's dark lands 

To war with that my Sin, 
Who stands before the door of God 

And will not let me in." 



64 



THE WIFE 

'yHE little Dreams of Maidenhood— 
^ I put them ali away 
As tenderly as mother would 

The toys of yesterday, 
When little children grow to men 
Too over-wise for play. 

The little dreams I put aside — 

I loved them every one, 
And yet since moon-blown buds must hide 

Before the noon-day sun, 
I close them wistfully away 

And give the key to none. 

O little Dreams of Maidenhood — 

Lie quietly, nor care 
If some day in an idle mood * 

I, searching unaware 
Through some closed corner of my heart, 

Should laugh to find you there. 



65 



THE CUREIS NIECE 

O INCE Gaston kissed and rode away, 
*^ Babette sits weeping ali the day, 
And goes no more to fête or faír, 
Who one time was the gayest there. 
The cure says, and so say I, 
" Love is a sorry thing to try. 

*' My niece," says he, "hath too much vvit 
Ever to give a thought to it." 
"OUncle, yearicry. 

Wherefore I treat the lads with scorn — 

I toss my curls at maids f orlorn ; 
Still, one May night, I chanced to see 
Where Jean went walking with Marie, 

And suddenly he bent — and O ! 

IV ly cheek was red as hers I know. 
It did not seem so ivronç, and yet 
How sad she is, that poor Babette! 

And Uncle says and so say I, 

" Love is a sorry thing to try." 

But Easter, when I went to mass, 
The miller's Raoul watched me pass 

With such black eyes — I laughed and then, 
I know not why — I louked again; 
66 



THE CUREIS NIECE 

And when Marie and Jean carne by 

I felt so sad — I wonder why. 

And last níght in the garden he — 
(Saints! had the cure chanced to see!) 

" My niece," says he, " hath too much wít 

Ever to gíve a thought to it." 
" O Uncle, yea ! " I cry. 



67 



LOST GIFTS 

I. 

'T'HE years we spent together — what are they 
*^ But blown dust on the wastes of yesterday? 

Yet should I íind my joy I must go back, 
Seeking its fragments where the gray years stay. 

Who knows what ghost may come the selfsame track, 
Wistful, for that his live hand cast away? 



II 



The dream we dreamed together — it is gone 
Like some frail rose a great wind falis upon, 

Destroying utterly. Yet I, in truth, 
Would give ali golden gardens 'neath the sun 

For one torn petal from that rose of youth, 
And nowhere may I find one — nay, not one. 



III 



Perchance that happiness w^e have not known 
Love now bestows on other lovers, grown 

More w^orthy of a gift left unpossessed. 
Those vagabonds met there beneath the blown 

May Moon to-níght, may wear within each breast 
The joy divine that might have been our own. 

68 



TIME 



\^ 



\1 /"HEN I think sometímes of old griefs I had, 
^ Of sorrows that once seemed too harsh to 

bear, 
And youth's resolve to never more be glad, 
I laugh — and do not care. 

When I thínk sometimes of the joy I knew, 

The gay, glad laughter ere my heart grew wise, 

The trivial happiness that seemed so true — 
The tears are in my eyes. 

Time — Time the cynic — how he mocks us ali ! 

And yet to-day I can but think him right : 
Ah heart, the old joy is so tragical 

And the old grief so light. 



69 



AT COLVMBINE'S WINDOW 

T^HE moonlight to her wíndow-sill 

Clung like a tendrilled vine 
That trembles though the wind is still, 

And through the night's decline, 
Stole Pierrot by the blossomed hedge, 

To sing to Columbine. 

Beneath her lattice, where the rose 
Reached up to find her hand, 

He waited in her garden close, 
As some white ghost might stand; 

The tinkle of his mandolin 

Was wave on shell-strewn sand. 

His voice was like a bird that beat 

Against her latticed pane; 
His mandolin held ali the sweet 

Insistence of the rain 
That whispers to the drooping rose 

To rise and bloom again. 

" Golã o' the moon, you are ali 7nine, ali mine, 
The ivhile I touch the hair of Columbine! 
Stars o' the sky, you are ali mine, ali mine, 
The ivhile I watch the eyes of Columbine! 
70 



AT C O LU M BINEIS WINDOW 

Rose o* the worldj you are ali mine, ali mine, 
The while I taste the íips of Columbine! 
But while, sweetheart, you sleep and these deny, 
Nor gold nor stars nor any rose have H* 

The curtain at her window-sill 

Quivered and stirred apace, 
As one who felt her fingers thrill ; 

And through the narrow space 
The voice of Columbine fell down 

Like rose leaves on his face. 

" Gold o' the moon, for hirn how can it be 
Who stands within its glow, and will not see? 
Stars o* the sky, how can he find them fair 
Who will not Uft his eyes to seek them theref 
Rose o' the world, how may he know its power 
Who will not dare the thorn to wear the flowerf 

The moonlight on her window-sill 

Bent low to lift him high ; 
The roses of their tender will 

Were hands to help him by; 
The tender arms of Columbine 

Were wings that he might fly. 



71 



AT COLUMBINE'S WIN D O IV 

The sudden sun danced up the lawn, 
The wind carne keen and fine; 

One singing through the hedge has gone 
Against the sunrise line; 

And on his lips, like some red rose, 
The kíss of Columbíne. 



72 



THE HILLS 

Ç\ MY Soul, let us go unto our hills, 

We were native to them one day, you and I — 

Less dwellers of the earth than of the sky 
Where the holy sense of silence stays and stills, 

Líke a hand of benediction lifted high. 

We have stayed in this market-place too long; 

We have bartered with the birth-right in our breast; 

We have shamed us with buffoonery and jest, 
Nor raised our eyes to where our hills were strong, 

Above this petty region of unrest. 

O, my Soul, let us go unto our hills, 
To their wonderful, high silence and their might, 
Where the old dreams shall whisper us by night 

Till the sullen heart within us stirs and thrills. 
And wakes to weep and wonder and delight. 

O my Soul, let us go unto our hills. 



73 



HARVEST 

r^ I saw her at the time of the sowing of the grain — 
^^ The April sun had broken through a íilmy mist of 
raln, 

And a little wind and sweet 

Swayed the grasses at her feet 
As I turned to look and turned to smile and turned to 
look again; 

And I said, '* How good a thing 

Is the promise of the Spríng — " 
At the time of the sowing of the grain. 

O, I kissed her at the time of the growing of the grain — 
Her laugh was like the melody that threads the lark's re- 
f rain ; 

Bud and blossom everj^vhere 

Sent their perfume through the air 
And the branches bent above her with their golden 
Autumn gain — 

And I said, '* Lo, Love hath grown 

Like the seeds thy hand hath sown — '* 
At the time of the growing of the grain. 



74 



HARVEST 

O, I won her at the time of the mowing of the grain — 
We guided o'er the empty fields the heavy-laden waín, 

And my life was like to sing 

With the joy of harvesting — 
O, Love's sowíng nor his growing nor his mowing were 
in vain! 

And I said, " Giv-e thanks, my heart, 

For the store that is thy part — " 
At the time of the mowing of the grain. 



75 



THE BALLAD OF THE ANGEL 

*'\ X 7" HO is it knocking in the night 
That faín would enter in? " 
*' The ghost of Lost Delight am I, 

The sin you would not sin, 
Who comes to look in j^our two eyes 

And see what might have been." 

■' O long ago and long ago 

I cast you forth," he said, 
" For that your eyes were ali too blue, 

Your laughing mouth too red, 
And my torn soul was tangled in 

The tresses of your head." 

" Now mind you vvith what bitter w^ords 
You cast me forth from you?" 

" I bade you back to that fair Hell 

From whence your breath you drew, 

And with great blows I broke my heart, 
Lest it might follow^ too. 

" Yea, from the grasp of your white hands 

I freed my hands that day, 
And have I not climbed near to God, 

76 



THE BALLAD OF THE ANGEL 

As these his henchmen may?" 
" Ah man — ah man, 'twas my two hands 
That led you ali the way." 

" I híd my eyes from your two eyes 
That they might see aright." 

" Yet think you 'twas a star that led 
Your f eet from height to height ? 

It was the flame of my two eyes 

That drew you through the night." 

With trembling hands he threw the door, 
Then fell upon his knee: 

" O Vision, armed and cloaked in light, 
Why do you honor me?" 

" The Angel of your Strength am I 
Who was your sin," quoth she. 

" For that you slew me long ago 

My hands have raised you high; 

For that mine eyes you closed, mine eyes 
Are lights to lead you by ; 

And 'tis my touch shall swing the gates 
Of Heaven when you die!" 



77 



ILLUMINATION ^ 

T A ST night I dreamed of you. I thought you came 
*^ And caught my hands in yours and said my name 
Over and over, till my soul was stirred 
With that fine ecstasy that some wild bírd 
May know when first he feels the blossoming 
And the keen rapture of the glad new Spring. 

Almost to-day I fear to meet your eyes 
Lest I should find them suddenly grown wise 
With knowledge of my heart ; almost I fear 
To touch your hand lest you should come too near, 
And startled, dazed by some fierce inner líght, 
We both should cry, " I dreamed a dream last night! " 



78 



PAN 

JWI OST good it is that Pan is dead : 
^ ' * We be a sad and suUen folk 

Who bend beneath a strange god's yoke 
And grind our hearts for daily bread. 

To him what sadness has been spared, 
Who died before the world was old 
Nor saw bis forests bought and sold, 

His shy, fleet wood-mates slain and snared. 

Who died remembering the dim 

Cool twilights when his clear pipes drew 
The sweetest songster of the crew 

To shrill an answer back to him. 

Who, dead, remembers only this; 
The darkh*ng river's moonlit space 
Wherefrom the white-limbed naiad's face 

Lifted its wet red h*ps to his. 

What man would wish him life — to see 

His happy river made a slave ; 

His sleek, wild creatures, íierce and brave, 
Heart-broken ín captivity? 

79 



PAN 

To know his nymphs and satyrs fled; 
To see a stern God's altar made 
Where once the crew of Bacchus played ; 
To know his forest mute with dread. 

O, well that Pan is dead — that he 

Hath missed ali knowledge of the gray 
Shadow of this bleak afterday, 

And little mirth of gods that be ! 



80 



A CITY FOICE 

/^UTSIDE here in the city the burning pavements lie, 
^^ There's heat and grime and blown black dust to 

help the day go by, 
There's the groaning of the city like a goaded, beaten 

beast ; — 
I know a place where God's great trees go up to meet 

His sky 
Like an army green with banners, and a happy wind 

released, 
Góes swinging like a merry child among the branches 

high. 

Outside here in the city there's a poison in the air — 
The fevered, heavy hand o' heat that smites and may 

not spare; 
There's little comfort in the night — there's torment in 

the day; — 
I know a place where cool and deep the quiet lake lies 

bare, 
Ali day about its shaded brink the wild birds dart and 

play, 
And willows dip their finger-tips like dainty ladies 

there. 



8i 



A CITY FOICE 

O, the heart of me is hungering for my own, own place, 
Fm tortured with the slaying heat, the dizzy headlong 
race. 
O, for the soft, cold touch of grass about my tired feet, 
The breath of pine and cedar blown against my weary 
face, 
The lip-lap of the vvater like a little song and sweet, 
And God's green trees and God's blue skies above me for 
a space. 



82 



LOVE LORE 

IVÍ OW when I see your face, sweetheart, I know 
^ What the rose feels that through the chilling night 
Yearns for the sun, despairingly, when lo! 
The siidden warmth, the glorious, great light! 

Now when I hear your voice, sweetheart, I know 
What the rose feels that drought hath almost slain, 

That, thirsting, droops disconsolate, when lo! 
The swift, cold air, the rapture of the rain ! 



83 



LOST SUMMER 

JVA Y heart hath its Springtime, yea, 

Its thrill of primai happiness, 
Its swift, keen days of gold and gra}^, 
Its crescent moon of promises. 

My heart hath had its Winter, O 
The barren land, the empty ways, 

The awful silence of the snow 

Through the untrodden nights and days! 

Alas, my heart that might not know 

The sweet, deep peace of Summer's prime ! 

Only for you the crushing snow 
And Spring's unrest in blossom time. 



84 



THE KINGS KISS 

V\7 E rode through the shouting town ; 
^ ' She clung to the edge of the crowd 
Like a crescent moon slipped down 
The stormy black of a cloud. 

Scarce missíng my horse's feet 
By a turn of the hand and head; 

And O, but her face was sweet, 
And O, but her moutJi was red ! 

I stooped from the saddle swift 
As a swooping hawk through the brine 

Pierces to strike and lift, 

And I touched her lips with mine. 

For a second's fleeting space 

I captured the flame of her eyes, 

The quick, hot blush of her face, 
Her wondering, mute surprise. 

But a look, a touch, and then — 
Spurred on to the thundering 

Of the thousand cries of men 
Who hailed their anointed king. 

85 



THE KINCS KISS 

Was she maiden, was she wife, 
Was she wanton, or bold or shy? 

What matter, we plucked from life 
An ecstasy — she and I. 

In the moment's Httle space 

Or for well or ill was it done — 

The gírl of the market place 

And the crownéd king were one, 

In purple the young Queen goes — 
Like a floiuer of snow, her face; 

Ah me, for the wild red rose 
I kissed in the market place! 



86 



ALL SOULS' DAY 

VUITHIN the church on AU Souls' Day 
^^ I knelt with those uncomforted, 
Who bowed their weary heads to pray 
Their sad prayers for the happy dead. 

We, with the sting of tears still hot 
Upon our faces, prayed for those 

Who have forgot ali tears, forgot 
The long passed pageant of old woes. 

We of the anxious soul and brain, 
Prayed peace for those who ever dwell 

In that great calm that follows pain, 
Safe-housed ín God's white citadel. 

O, futile, tender mockery! 

We, hampered, fettered in the strife, 
To pray for those glad souls made free 

Of the great burden that is life. 

Dear God, another prayer I said; 

Humbly I asked who might not give : 
Pray ye for us, thrke hnppy dead, 

For us ivho live — for us who live! 



87 



A BOOK OF VERSES 

i 

/^NLY a little book of singing rhymes 

^^ Yet, when I read, there sudden seemed to ring 

Soft to my ears the distant caroling 
And happy note of silver-hearted chimes 

That pealed in some Arcadian morning-tide 
When like a rose on roses carne the bride. 

I know one morning, when the world was young 
And Spring was like a maiden garbed in green, 
Some Amaryllis turned to look and lean 

When melodies like these her shepherd sung; 
Sc clear, so delicate that scarce a bird 
Could flute an answer to the notes he heard. 

I think the great god Pan one day in mirth 
Piped him a song too fine and exquisite 
For weight of years to crush and silence it ; 

Too sweet to vanish wholly from the earth, 
It loitered long in alien ways apart, 
To spring at last in this new singer's heart. 



m 



THE BARRED DOOR 

/^ NE night upon mine ancient enemy 

^-"^ I closed my door, 

And lo ! that night carne Love in search of me— 

Love I had hungered for — 
And fínding my door closed, went on his way, 

And came no more. 

Pray you take counsel of this penitent, 

And learn thereof : 
Set your door wide whatever guests be sent, 

Your graciousness to prove; 
Better to let in many enemies 

Than bar out Love. 



89 



EXORCÍSM 

O HE vvho one day was my guest 
*^ Shall be guest no more; 
Dark the room that knew her best, 

Closed and barred the door ; 
Every casement locked to her 
Who was Sorrovv's messenger. 

Now forbidden is the place 

That she knew of old, 
Nevermore her gloomy face 

Peers to scoff or scold, 
With her cracked voice pitched to wheeze 
Tales of drear despondencies. 

O, she made this hearth of mine 

Like a funeral; 
'Neath her eyes the fíre's bright shine 

Seemed to fade and fali; 
When the sun was gol d, her gloom 
Made a shadow in the room. 



90 



EXORCISM 

Overlong she sat wíth me 

Ere time made me wise, 
Hearing in her company 

Thríce told tales and lies 
Of old miseries that grew, 
Even as she told them, new. 

Be it lack of courtesy, 

Be it fault or sin, 
Nevermore to mine and me 

Shall she enter in, 
Neverm.ore my hands shall press 
Thine, O crone Unhappiness ! 

Light the lamps and set the feast, 

Bid the music start, 
O ye joys or great or least 

Crowded from my heart, 
Now I bid the dance begin — 
Pray ye laugh and enter in. 

Enter in, while Time endures, 

Merry joys of earth, 
Heart and house and home are yours, 

Yours are roof and hearth. 
Greet me, pledge me cup to lip 
In your old-time fellowship. 



9L 



EXORCISM 

I am free who once was slave, 
Pray ye, friends, carouse 

That this creatiire of the grave 
Is forbid my house. 

Laughter, lift your lips to me — 

Kiss me, blue-eyed Comedy! 



92 



THE ASPEN TREE 

'T^HE little aspen tree stands high 

Upon the hill that guards the lane; 
Her leaves are green as emeralds, 
Her prattle is like dancing rain. 
She gossips to the wind, the sky, 
And we are comrades, she and I. 

I climb the hill at evenfall; 

She stands so high she may look down 
And whisper me if you have turned 

The winding highway from the town, 
And in the wind's arm bend to see 
And murmur that you haste to me; 

And with her hundred voices tell 

Each step you take to reach my side, 

And laugh in merry mockery, 

Pretend to scold and weep and chide, 

And stand a moment mute in grief, 

Then laugh with every rustling leaf. 

And when at last you take my hands 
And call my name, in mimicry 

She chatters it a dozen times; 
And then in gay and elfish glee 

Attunes .her happy leaves to this — 

The lisping cadence of a kiss. 



93 



THE WELCOMING 

'\17 E were alone what time you said 

Your last farewell to me, 
Ere yet you joíned the happy dead 
In their fair company. 

God send our meetíng be like this 
In Heaven's lonelíest ring, 

Lest angels envy us the bliss 
Of that íírst welcoming. 



94 



A WOMJN 

T^HE great love that was not for her 

Passed on, nor paused to see 
The wistful eyes, the hands' vague stir, 
The mouth's mute mísery. 

The little love she recked not of 

Crept closer bit by bit, 
Until for very lack of love, 

She smiled and welcomed it. 

Not hers to choose, to w^eigh and part 

The greater f rom the less ; 
She only strove to fill a heart 

That ached with emptiness. 



95 



THE BALLAD OF THE SCULLION MAID 

JT luas the little scuUion maid 

W hose willing hands served them, 
Who served the noble guests and fine 
IVith store of meat and poured out ivine 
In the inn at Bethlehem. 

The night was full of stinging rain, 

The mad wind drove in hate ; 
It was the little scullion maid 
Who leaned into the dark and said, 

*'One crieth at the gate!" 

"Behold, there are two travelers 

And wearied they and sore!" 
Then quoth the landlord at his wine, 
"I trow they are no guests of mine — 

My inn will hold no more. 

"Now for a king small room might be, 

But none for such as they. 
Let them begone, or, for a jest, 
Bid them among my kine to rest 

Until the break of day." 



96 



THE BALLAD OF THE SCULLION MAID 

It was the little scullion maíd 

Who slipped into the night 
To bring the stabled travelers 
The bread and bedding that were hers, 

And oil for them to light. 

It was the little scullion maid 

Who braved the wind and sleet; 
As through the darksome night she crept, 
Sudden a great star flamed and leapt 
And led her puzzled feet. 

It was the little scullion maid 

That at the stable door 
Heard with a sudden awe beguiled, 
The sharp cry of a little child 

Where ne'er was child before. 

And it was Joseph took her gifts 

With thankful words and meet, 
And low the little scullion maid 
Hath knelt at Mary's side and laid 
Soft linen at her feet. 

And it was Jesus of Nazareth, 

The new-born child spake He — 
"My Mother, by thy throne in Heaven 
Shall stand those saints whose joy is given 
To minister to thee. 

97 



THE BALLAD OF THE SCULLION MAID 

"Úrsula — Agnes — Magdalen — 

Whose names are loved of men, 
But ever at thy own right hand 
Behold, this little maid shall stand 

Thy chosen handmaiden." 

// was the little scullion maid 

Whose willing hnnds served them, 
Who served the nohle guests and fine 
Wtth store of meat and poured out wine 
In the inn at Bethlehem. 



98 



A WIFE 

í STRETCH out both my hands to you — 
It pleased you once to call them fair; 
Look now and see if anyvvhere 
Are hands more scarred and worn than these 

That lost theír fairness servíng you. 

I lift up my two eyes to you — 
It pleased you once to call them sweet; 
Judge now if any eyes repeat 

Theír lack of light — poor eyes that wept 
Their sweetness out in guardíng you. 

O hands and eyes once dear to you, 
I would not they had served you less, 
Yet hands like these who might caress, 
Nor eyes líke these wín love agaín 

For ali theír wístful prayer to you ! 



99 



THE CONSOLER 

T^IiME comes to grief as Sleep to weariness — 
On silent sandals and with shadowy hair 
Sleep bends to soothe the fretful daytime care, 
And Time unto my grief shall do no less. 
But yet a little and his hands shall press 

Above the weeping eyes and close them there, 
Above the trembling lips, till ali despair 
Lie like a sleeping child in his caress. 
And when my sorrow wakes it will not be 
My sorrow any more, for I shall smile, 
Beholding it, to know it comforted ; 
No sorrow, but a gracious memory 

That still may walk with me a little while 
At twilight, or when April boughs are spread. 



lOO 



UNCONQUERED 

T HAVE fallen once, I have fallen thrice, 

And my wounds are sad to see ; 
Yet, brothers of mine, take these for sign 
That I fought courageously. 

If my comrades found it an easy thing 

To pass where I suffered sore, 
Shall they hold me then to the scorn of men 

That I struggled and strove the more? 

Forever God giveth his chosen wings, 

Yet the goal is set for ali, 
And swift and high may the wingéd fly 

Where the earth-bound needs must crawl. 

And my wounds, my bleeding, my strife, my tears 

Shall cry of my victory, 
For they prove each one that I did not shun 

The path that the weaklings flee. 



lOI 



THE LOST LAND 

\^^E questíon of the Captains, 

Each morning on the quay: 
" Good Masters, have you ne'er a ship 

That sails to Arcady?" 
" North and East and South and West, 

Our white sails take the wind, 
But never port o' Arcady 

May skipper touch or íínd." 

O lost land and lovely land, across the leagues of foam, 
Across the sea, across the sand it*s we'd be ivinning home. 

For that ive chose to wander once in quest of golden 
gaiTij 

Is never ship upon the sea can take us hack againf 

We questíon of the Merchants 

Who trade by land and sea: 
" Now pray you, Sírs, whence go the wares 

You send to Arcady? " 
" North and East, South and West, 

We merchants buy and sell, 
But where's the mart o' Arcady 

Is more than man can tell." 



102 



THE LO ST LAN D 

O lost land of dear deUghts, beyond our wistful gaze, 
We lost the way in noisy nights, in jarred and jangiing 
days. 
For that we kissed our love good-bye to follow Pleas- 

ure*s crew 
Is never path ahout the world can lead us back to you? 

We questíon of the Wise Men: 

" Faír Sírs, of courtesy, 
Now show us where the glad star lies 

That shínes o'er Arcady?" 
" North and East and South and West, 

We call the stars by name, 
But never land o' Arcady 

Is lighted by their flame." 

O lost land of faith and truth, not ali our useless tears 
May bring us back the dreams of youth across the 
crowded years, 
Nor merchants in the market place, nor skippers on 

the se a, 
Nor craftj nor skill, nor ivish, nor will lead back to 
Arcady. 



103 



THE LÍMPING ONE 

YOU had no eyes for me, my lad, 

I never met your sight 
When fiddles played upon the green, 
Or girls walked out at níght. 

The laughing girls, the dancing girls, 

The rosy cheeks for you ; 
You knew the black-eye's challenging, 

The softness of the blue. 

You had your pick and choice of girls, 
What call had you to face 

The little, limping one that sat 
Beside the chimney-place. 

O, girls enough they cried for you 
The day you said good-bye; 

And yet Tm thinking there's just one 
Whose tears will never dry. 

And girls enough wished well to you 
The hour you turned away ; 

And 5^et Fm thinking just one prayer 
Góes with you every day. 

And if at last it aids you, lad, 
You'll never guess it carne 

From just the little, limping one 
You never called by name. 

104 



A PRAYER ro A ZR A EL 

DECAUSE thy face is more compassionate 

Than God's own angel Pity, he who stands 

Above the world with healing in his hands, 
Early and late, 
Therefore I dare to ask a little thing. 

Though unto thee no man is small or great, 
The humblest beggar, the anointed king 

Of one estate, 
Yet, O, how often, often on thy breast 
The little children rest, 

Feeling thy sombre arms about them close 

As twilight folds a rose; 
So, cven I this little prayer dare bring 
Unto thy pitying. 

I pray thee find me not my hour to go 

Closed within any dwelling men have made — 
Those four poor walls where I may crouch, afraid 

As from a foe; 

But seek me on my hills, my hills whereon 
The free winds drift and blow, 

Between the green and gold of earth and sun, 
Ah, find me so! 

I would not quite forget, in some new birth, 

The joy of this my earth, 

Nor lose what time I look on Paradise, 
The vision in my eyes 

Of green boughs svvayíng in a singing wind — 

O Azrael, be kind ! 

105 



THE MEMORY 

OWN the little, crooked street that went to meet the 
L) sea 

The torn nets were drying on the grass — 
(She was mending at the old nets — she never looked at 

me — ) 
On a blue September morníng with a West wínd blowlng 
free, 
She never raised her head to watch me pass. 

'Tis ali I took away with me — a blue September 

morning, 
The little street, the green grass and one girFs 
scorning. 

IVe forgot my Father's house — the house that saw me 
born — 
Forgot my Mother's blessing at the last; 
There's nothing but the old nets tangled-like and torn 
And the head that bent above them, yellow-colored as the 
corn, 
That never raised to watch me as I passed. 

I wish Fd be forgetting it — a blue September morn- 
ing, 
The blowing grass, the torn nets — and one girFs 
scorning. 



io6 



THE EXILE 

A BOVE him in the city street, 

The flame of noon íncreased ; 
With tumult as when armies meet, 
Life urged her great and least; 
'Míd dín and turmoil, diist and heat, 

Went dríven man and beast. 
He felt the salt ivind on his face, 

The wet sand at his feet; 
He saiu the white sails lift again, 

He heard the singing sailor men 
Above the comhers' heat; 
And half the way across the world the song carne clear 
and sweet. 

Above the dismal lodging hung 

The heavy heat of day ; 
The swarming insects buzzed and clung; 

Within the gas-light's ray 
Men wrangled in an alien tongue, 

Or slept as cattle may. 
He felt the cool of dew-damp fieldsj 

He heard the fiddies play 
The old remembered dancing tune; 

He saw the white midsummer moon. 
And mo c king — luring — gay^ 
The sound of one girVs laughter carne from half a world 
away. 



107 



THE BALLAD OF THE COMFORTING 

/\/l ARY smiled on her little Son, 
'^^ '' Now, why hast Thou left Thy play? " 
" But to touch thy hands with my hands, Mother, 

Lest sometíme there come a day 
When I may not close them within mine own, 
Though they fali as hurt doves may." 

Mary smiled on her little Son, 

" Now blind wouldst Thou have me go 

That mine eyes Thou hast closed with kisses twain? " 
** My IMother, I may not know, 

But I fear a day when they look on pain 
And I may not close them so." 

Mary smiled on her little Son, 

Close, close in her arms pressed He: 
" O Mother, my Mother, my heart on thine 

Lest sometime a day may be 
When I may not comfort nor make it whole, 

Though it break for love of me." 

Noiv think you that on Calvary's hill 

Whereon her Son was slain, 
She felt upon her eyes that touch 

That veiled them unto pain. 
And filled her grophig hands, and hade 

Her tom heart heat againf 



I08 



A PARABLE 

í~\ NE had the marble ready to his hand, 

^^ And cunníng ínstruments to cut and shape, 

And made a form of beauty and command. 

And one toiled wearíly, long day by day, 
With nothing for his tools but naked hands, 
And nothing for his work but common clay. 

And ali men bowed before the marble form, 
And hailed him master who had done this thing; 
And at the clay they mocked with jest and scorn. 

And one walked proudly, crowned with men's acciaim 

And one sat sullen, muttering in his beard, 

" Behold! I did my best; whose then the blame? " 



109 



THE VICTOR 

'T^HE Vive man victorious 

Rode spurring from the fight; 
In a glad voice and glorious 

He sang of his delight 
And dead meu three, foot-loose and free. 

Carne after in the night. 

And one laid hand on his bridle-rein — 
Swift as the steed he sped — 

"O, ride you fast, yet at the last, 
Hate faster rides," he said. 

"My sons shall know their father's foe 
One day when blades are red." 

And one laid hand on his stirrup-bar 

Like touch o' driven mist, 
"For joy you slew ere joy I knew 

For one girFs mouth unkissed, 
At your board's head, at mass, at bed, 

My pale ghost shall persist." 

And one laid hands on his own two hands, 

*'0 Brother o' mine," quoth he, 
"What can I give to j^ou who live 
IIO 



THE VICTOR 

Like gíft you gave to me? 
Since from grief and strife and ache o' life 
Your sword-stroke made me free." 

The live man victorious 

Rode spurring from the fight; 

In a glad voice and gloj-ioiís 
He sang of his dclight. 

And dead men three, foot-loose and free. 
Carne after in the night. 



XII 



A SONG OF LO FE 

T OVE laid his hands on my tvvo hands 

And straightway I was strong; 
He held my eyes wíthín his eyes 

That they might see no wrong; 
His kisses fell upon my lips 

And left them fiUed with song. 

The meanest task my hands may do 
For Love's sake now is meet ; 

The meanest thing my ej^es may see 
Grows wondrous and complete; 

And since my songs are ali of him, 
Love, must not they be sweet? 



112 



A BOOK OF CELTIC VERSE 

[To Seumas MacManus] 

T^HAT was never a book that you brought me and gave 
to my hand — 

'Twas a wind sighing and a wave lifting, 

And the sight of a red moon drifting 
0'er a far-oí¥ land. 

That was never a thing of words that you brought and 
bade me know — 
'Twas a bugie blowing, a flame burning, 
And the gleam of a swift lance turníng 

To the ílying foe. 

That was never a printed rhyme that you brought and 
bade me see — 

'Twas a child's laughter and a bride's sighing, 

A saint's faith and a strong man's dying, 
That you gave to me. 



113 



TWO CREEDS 

TN SI DE the temple door the suUen light 

Fell on the mouthing man, who, stern and drear, 

Poured down upon the listening crowd the blight 
Of his believing, " Find thy God through fear! " 

But out withín the green, beneath the blue, 

Deep in the heart of nature's festival, 
" Love! Love! " the glad birds caroled as they flew, 
" O Love! Love! Love!" they sang, " For that is ali. 



114 



THE PRISONERS 

HAT which we were forever stands between 
1 Ourselves and that we would be. With frail hands, 

Cold upon eíther's wrist, an Old Year stands 
And holds us prisoners for what has been ; 
And pitiful her eyes that needs must screen 
Our restless eyes that turn toward unseen lands 
And strange new days, and ali the heart's demands 
Falter and fail before her wistful mien. 
Surely we need but little strength to break 
This feeble hold and turn and wander free, 
Each one his separate way beyond her door ; 
Strange that we stand here sullenly for sake 
Of that brief joy she gave to you and me, 
Ere Love went weepíng to return no more. 



115 



A FABLE 

**\A/AS ít not enough," said the toad, 

'' lo have sun and food and dirt, 
But a flame that flared and glowed 

Must hurtle you on to hurt ? 
You, with your broken wing, 

Beaten and bruised and burned — 
Fool to have sought the light 

And found what your folly earned. 
Is it not peace to rest 

In the mellow mud of the road? " 

* * * 

*' Alas, but the flame was fair! " 
Said the moth to the toad. 

" You have flown," said the toad, '* for this, 

To lie hurt and dying and torn; 
You are crazed and killed with a kiss, 

You are scorched by a mocking scorn, 
When one has warmth and food, 

And may sit and blink in the light, 
That is ali and enough of good. 

Lie, fool, and mourn your flight! 
Envy me w^here I squat 

Unscathed in the mud of the road ! " 

* * * 

"Alas, but the flame was sweet!" 
Said the moth to the toad. 



ii6 



THE LITTLE GHOST 

T AST night, through driven mist and beating rain, 
*-^ One carne whose feet had known the path before ; 
The little Love we buríed stood again 
And sobbed beside my door. 

What could I do, oh foolish woman heart, 

But draw him in and hold him safe and warm ? 

Why had Death loosed him, helpless and apart, 
To wander ín the storm? 

O h*ps and hands that I have wanted most! 

My arms were open ! Be ít wrong or right, 
Who could turn such a lonely little ghost 

Adrift into the night ? 



117 



TWO SINS 

nPHE sin I did for Love's sake 

Lies in the soul of me, 
And líghts me far as some white star 
Whose strength is purity. 

The sin I did for Hate's sake — 
Ah heart, that this should be! — 

Has bound the feet that would be fleet, 
The eyes that fain would see. 



Ii8 



H 



THE ST RANGER 

E waíted here among us for a fortníght and a day — 
We knew as much before he carne as when he wcnt 
away ; 
'Twas he that had the dancíng eyes, 'twas he that had 

the smile, 
And the singing voíce you'd foUow though it led you 
for a mile. 
The shoulders of a sergeant too for ali his chin was bare — 
A rovin' rangin' soldier lad from God knows where. 

Chrístían bred or heathen bred, he left it to our whim — 
The bells of twenty parishes could ríng for ali of him ; 
But, faíth, he had a way wíth him that never carne 

amíss — 
No man that wouldn't follow him, no girl he couldn't 
kíss — 
And always with the face of one that's stepping to a fair— 
A rovin' rangin' soldier lad from God knows where. 

He waíted here among us for a fortnight and a day — 
But here's that luck goes with you, lad, wherever you may 
stray ; 
And here's that though you choose to tramp through 

fifty towns or more, 
The times you'll knock may always be a woman at 
the door. 
It's you'll be sure of welcome then, as she'll be sure of 

care — 
Me rovin' rangin' soldier lad from God knows where. 

) 119 



GATHERED ROSES 

A S one through some belovéd garden strays 

For the last time, and, lingering, stays to break 
A blossom here and there for old love's sake, 
So I go back through our lost yesterdays 
And cull my fragrant memories — your praise 
And pride of me, the songs we used to make, 
The happy name you gave me. Oh, I take 
So little ere I face the untried ways. 
How will it be, dear, when I look on these 
My gathered roses in the years to be? 
Shall I b^ehold love's garden ali ablow 
As once we knew it, or, as one who sees 
That place he loved, deserted utterly, 
Given to emptiness and wind and snow ? 



120 



IRONY 

\J OU gave me my vvork to do, you brought and set it 
before me; 
I laughed wíth the laiighter of one, seeing, who under- 
stands ; 
I bent to the task elate, zeal like a mantle o'er me — 
W/iy did you hreak my wrists and shatter the strength 
of my handsf 

You gave me a song to sing, and mine the joy of the 
bringing 
Strands of Heaven, and sea and earth strung to the 
perfect note. 
Finished, glorious, whole, I raised my head for its sing- 
íng — 
Why did you seal tny Ups and crush the song in my 
throaif 

The work I was fain to do — \t rusts in the drift of the 
sands; 
The song I was fain to sing is waste for the winds to 
float. 
IVhy did you hreak my urisis and shatter the strength of 
my handsf 
Why did you seal my Ups and crush the song in my 
throat? 



121 



THE UNFORGOTTEN 

T T is ali calm thís love you give to me. 
My life goes gently in a cloistered hold 
Whose Windows open to the scanty gold 
Of tender twilight on a waveless sea. 
This is the joy I thought might never be, 
The comfort granted and the ease untold ; 
This is the dream fulfilled, that in the old 
Despiteful days I sought for w^arily. 
Oh strange, most strange, that from this peace I turn 
To think of one who rode a dangerous way, 
One night of winds, beneath a moon-mad sky, 
Reckless as ílame that leaps to cleave and burn, 
A wild, glad lover speeding to obey 

The mocking fate that bade him kiss and die. 



122 



A PRAYER TO LOVE - 

DRAY you, my master, let me keep my dream. 
^ Of ali sweet things have I not been bereft — 

Of very youth, of very happíness? 
Why should you covet this one fairing left? 

Nay, grant me this. What slave could ask for less? 
Pray you, my master, let me keep my dream. 

Pray you, my master, leave to me this thing, 
I, who was rich one day, to-day am poor 

Beyond men's envying, save but for this, 
This dream for whose glad sake I still endure ; 
Ali else you fílched in that one Judas kiss. 
Pray you, my master, leave to me this thing. 

Pray you, my master, let me keep my dream. 
O Love, I gave to you so much, so much — 
Desire of joy, yea, and desire of tears — 
Leave me this one dear solace in my touch, 
This little lamp to light the desolate years. 
Pray you, my master, let me keep my dream. 



123 



A FADING ROSE 

T^HIS was the rose that yesterday 
* Made my nook of the garden gay ; 
Bonnie and blithe and debonair, 
Kissed of the sun and summer air, 
Sweet coquette in a ruffled dress, 
Glad of life and its loveliness. 

Would I had thought it greater sin 
Thus to pluck it and bring it in, 
Here where the dusk of the sunless room 
Blurred its beauty and killed its bloom, 
Till none would say this drooping thing 
Once was merriest child of Spring. 
Only a fading rose, and yet, 
Wakes in my heart a strange regret, 
Such as might come if one should see 
Columbine in her tragedy, 
Or a laughter-loving, little Pierrette, 
A sob in her throat and her blue eyes wet. 



124 



UNSHRIVEN 

T HAVE paid well for every sin 
-*• And blotted out the score ; 
So great I made m^^ punishment — 
Not God could make it more. 

But these no man calls sin — too small 

For penance or regret — 
The tardy thoiight, the careless kiss, 

The groping hand unmet. 

The sorrow that I left unsoothed, 

The word I left unsaid, — 
Ah me ! I know what ghosts must stand 

About my dying bed. 



125 



A MEMORY 



YOU carne ínto my life for one brief day, 

Gave me the laughter of your lips and eyes, 
Touch of your hand ín mine, then turned away, 
Yet left these memories. 



Ah child, you brought strange sunlight to my gloom; 

So carelessly you gave a thing so fair, 
As though one passed through some closed, haunted room, 

And dropped a flower there. 



126 



THE LAST GIFT 

T LEAVE this book for you, O friend of mine, 
To speak for me that day my líps are dumb ; 
A silent messenger I bid it come 
To gain the welcome I must needs resígn. 
I pray you on that night you miss me most, 

That night when most you crave a word of me, 
Beside your fire and once again my host, 

Open this book and greet me silently ; 
And read the põem that the worn page shows 

I loved the best, and linger on the line 
I marked there, as to say, " Lo, once a rose 

I closed here for your finding, that was mine." 
And otherwhere, I know that you will say, 

" Perchance she smiled here," and your smile will 
break 

Upon your lips for our old laughter's sake, 
And I shall hear, though very far away. 
And in your reading if perchance you see 

Upon one page a stain a tear might leave, 
I doubt not our two hands may meet and cleave 

Once more in their old bond of sympathy. 
Yea, in the mists of that dim borderland, 

Beyond our wildered thought of time and space, 
I think our souls a little while may stand 

And look a moment in each other*s face. 



127 



THE PJGJN SOUL 

Y^U who were born for laiighter and the bright 
Gold sun of morning and white fire at night, 
Whose voice is tuned to that delicious speech 
The dryads use when calling each to each 
Across keen mornings when the Spring is new 
And high, white clouds drift bird-like in the blue: — 

You who were born for music and for mirth — 
A mad, glad soul sent jubilant to earth — 

What strange fate set you a bewildered thing, 
Prisoned in this dim House of Suffering, 
Placed in the midst of those grown sadly wise, 
With that mute, f rightened wonder in your eyes ? 

How still you sit what time there ring without 
Echoes of distant merriment and shout! 
How still you sit what time the wind elate 
Calls at your casement for bis glad-heart mate, 
And the red moon comes flaming up the sky, 
Like a great torch to set strange revels by! 

O child, we mortais knowing whence 'tis sent, 
Bring certain wisdom to sore punishment; 

We ease the anguish as we weigh the loss. 

But you, O sweet my Pagan, to this cross, 
Wondering, wildered, fettered foot and hand, 
Why are you bound who may not understand? 



128 



YOUTH 

T IFE ín the Book of Lovers bade me look. 

■"-^ Oh, much of heart-break in the pages lay — 

Long gríef and fierce, fair joy that lasts a day ! 
Ali this I read before I closed the book. 

''Now art thou warned," qiioth Life, "what loving is. 
Filled with this wisdom, whither dost thou go?" 
Then I, 'twixt awful tears and laughter, '' Lo, 
I go to add another page to this ! " 



129 



THE JNNUNCIATION 

í^^ OD whíspered and a silence fell; the world 
^^ Poised one expectant moment like a soul 
Who sees at Heaven's threshold the unfurled 
White wings of cherubim, the sea impearled, 

And pauses, dazed, to comprehend the whole; 
Only across ali space God's whisper carne 
And burned about her heart like some white flame. 

Then suddenly a bird's note thrilled the peace, 
And earth again jarred noisily to life, 

With a great murmur as of many seas. 

But Mary sat with hands clasped on her knees, 
And lifted ej^es with ali amazement rife, 

And in her heart the rapture of the Spring 

Upon its íirst sweet day of blossoming. 



i^o 



RECRIMINATION 

O O long you walked upon the selfsame way — 
*^ The crooked paths of many a night and day — 
You, who have passed the pitfalls and the snares, 
Could you not warn me where I went astray? 

O child, did I not call — my fears, my prayers 
Drowned in your laughter, jubilant and gay. 

Now, from the happy heights vvhereon you stand, 
Why could you not have stretched a guiding hand, 

Or pointed but a pathway for my feet 
That stumbled blindly in this unlit land ? 

O child, you found your gypsying so sweet, 
What, though I stj-ove, you would not understand! 

Nay, but some mark you might have left behind, 
Some token that my f rightened eyes míght find ; 

Some little sign to bid me know and stay 
And find my pathway ere the day declíned. 

O child, my feet were bleeding ali the way, 
Yet to their stains so blind you were — so blind! 

Now^, if some day I gain my goal índeed, 
Will I find solace for my want and need? 

Ah, surely never evil may befall 
As sore as these sad wounds w^herew^ith I bleed ! 

O child, you too must know the worst of ali — 
To cry to one beloved who will not heed. 

131 



THE MO TH ER 

O HE will remember when they forget — 
*^ I knew it so ín the hour I died ; 
The oíl was touched and the candle set 

And the woman I worshiped sobbed beside; 
And the friend I had loved and deiíied 
Hid his face where the tears were wet. 

And the Mother who bore me spake no word, 
But the break of her heart was the last I heard. 

Oh, life was good in the w^orld I knew — 
Shall I be sad that they fínd it such ? 

My friend hath gained him a friend as true — 
The wife of me thrills to a new hand's touch. 
(Oh, but the dead forgive so much!) 

Tears are forgotten and grief is through. 

And the Mother who bore me — only she 
Hides her face on the grave of me. 



132 



A RAINY DAY 

[to d. b. p.] 

nr HIS is my dream, to have you on a day 

Of beating raín and sullen clouds of gloom, 

Here with me, in the old familiar room, 
Watching the logs, beneath the flames' swift play, 

Burst into strange conceits of bud and bloom. 

The things we know about us here and there, 
The books we love half-read on floor and knee, 
The stein the Dutchman brought from over-sea, 

Standing invitingly beside j^our chair ; 

The while we quote and talk and — disagree. 

Rebuild the castles that we reared in Spain, 
Re-read the poet that our childhood knew, 
With eyes that meet when some quaint thought rings 
true — 

O friend, for some such day of cheer and rain, 
Books, and the dear companionship of you ! 



133 



KNOWLEDGE 

DECAUSE she stepped into my heart one day, 

Where never a step before might wín, 
I know what grace fills an empty place 
When the Well Belovéd comes in. 

Because she went out from my heart one day, 

I know as never another one, 
The lonely gloom of a crowded room 

When the Well Belovéd has gone. 



134 



A PR A Y ER 

T DO not pray for peace, 

Nor ask that on my path 
The sounds of war shall shrill no more, 

The way be clear of wrath. 
But this I beg thee, Lord, 

Steel thou my will with might, 
And ín the strife that men call life, 

Grant me the strength to ílght. 

I do not pray for arms, 

Nor shield to cover me. 
What though I stand with empty hand, 

So ít be valiantly! 
Spare me the coward's fear — 

Questioning wrong or right : 
Lord, among these mine enemies, 

Grant me the strength to fight. 

I do not pray that Thou 

Keep me from any wound, 
Though I fali low from thrust and blow, 

Forced fighting to the ground; 
But give me wit to hide 

My hurt from ali men's sight, 
And for my need the while I bleed, 

Lord, grant me strength to fight. 

135 



A PRAYER 

I do not pray that Thou 

Shouldst grant me víctory; 
Enough to know that from my foe 

I have no will to flee. 
Beaten and bruísed and banned, 

Flung líke a broken svvord, 
Grant me thís thíng for conqueríng- 

Let me díe fighting, Lord ! 



136 



THE WEDDING BONNET 

O HE tíed her wedding bonnet on — 
*^ The rosy bow beneath her chin, 
And ali the little birds outside 
Burst into chorus for the bride — 
Ah, how she thrilled to hear within ! 

She tied her wedding bonnet on — 

Her mirror was one flattery ; 
The roses at the bonnet's brim 
Seemed ali her passing thoughts of him 

Transformed to pink reality. 

She tied her wedding bonnet on 

With soft and tender íingering, 
And thought whose strong brown hands would so 
Bend to untie the dainty bow, 

Then blushed as íf she felt the ring. 



^37 



LABOR 

'T^HERE is a potion of forgetfulness 
As wonderful as sleep and exquisite, 
And he who once hath drunk his fuU of it 
Loses his sometime heart-break and distress ; 
No Lethe thTs, yet in its depths no less 

Lies Peace. And Life, who brewed this cup with wit, 
Hath called it ''Labor," and those men who sit 
About his boaid, drink deep and laugh and bless. 
Drink and forget the burden of old sighs ; 
Drink, and behold, the world is glorious! 

This was God's plan; this wondrous gift and glad 
He gave to Adam, losing Paradise, 

"Behold, I bid you labor!" Yea, and thus 

Saved the first man, perchance, from going mad. 



138 



THE SPRING CALL 

"Xl/HAT was it made me drop the spade and lift me 
head to look again ? 
Was it blowing of the West wind or a bird-song true ? 
(Oh Red-breast, how you sang it till the bough beneath 
you shook again.) 
"Ah, Spring's come back to Kerry, lad, and ali the 
world's made new." 

Then it's "Hi Terry, Ho Terryj heres the open road 
for you. 
Leave the old men have the roof and hug the chim- 
ney seat." 
Then it's "Hi Tcn-y, Ho Ten-y, here's a tinkers load 
for you — 
A ragged coat, a merry heart, and dancing in your 
feetr 

Sure, ali the little willow trees have on their veils o' green 
again, 
AU the little, clacking brooks are urging as they run. 
They're calling me, they're coaxing me, " O, foUow now 
we're seen again, 
And Spring's come back to Kerry with the West wind 
and the Sun." 



139 



THE SPRING CALL 

Then 'tt's, "Hi Terry, Ho Terry, }iere*s a tinke/s 
meai for you — 
The sound of singing fiddles at the cross roads ihe 
day, 
The lightest feet the parish round tripping through 
the reel for you; 
Ah, clap a primrose m your cap and throw the 
spade atvay.'* 



140 



OISIE FIGHT MORE 

IMOW, thínk yoii, Life, I am defeated quite? 
More than a single battle shall be mine 
Before I yield the sword and give the sign 

And turn, a crownless outcast, to the night. 

Wounded, and yet unconquered in the fight, 
I wait in silence till the day may shine 
Once more iipon my strength, and ali the line 

Of your defences break before my might. 

Mine be that warrior's blood vvho, stricken sore, 
Lies-in bis quiet chamber till he hears 

Afar the clash and clang of arms, and knows 
The cause he lived for calls for him once more ; 
And straightway ríses, whole and void of fears, 
And arméd, turns him singing to his foes. 



141 



THE PENITENT 

T COME to thee blind, despairíng, 

I grope where I may not see : 
Love, thou worker of miracles, 
Open my eyes for me. 

I come to thee deaf, unheedíng, 
Beggared of sound and voice: 

Love, thou maker of marvels, 
Bid me hear and rejoice. 

I come to thee shunned — a leper, 
Scorned ín the sight of men : 

Love, whose pardon is cleansing, 
Make thou me clean again. 

Love, thou worker of miracles, 
Maker of marvels sweet, 

Love, whose pardon is cleansing, 
These my tears on thy feet. 



142 



AMANTIUM IRjE 

T OVE hath querulous grown and sad- 
We shoiild have parted yesterday; 
A wístful lass and a tender lad — 
Píty it was we chose to stay. 

Over-long was the joy we had — 

Why we wearied what man may say ? 

Love hath querulous grown and sad — 
We should have parted yesterday. 

( ), to have said when hearts were glad, 
" Kiss me and go," as lovers may. 

Now we sneer that the dream was mad, 
\awn and wonder and turn away. 

Love hath querulous grown and sad — 
We should have parted yesterday. 



143 



THE CLOISTERED ROSE 

nPHE rose that grew ín the nun's whíte window 

Ever leaned to the close-shut pane, 
And yearned and died — unsatisfied — 
For touch of the sun and rain. 

And the little novice kissed ít, dead, 
And the slow tears stung her hand ; 

But why she too its secret knew, 
Ah, who may understand? 



144 



RESURGAM 

A17E doubted our God ín secret, 

We scoffed ín the market-place, 
We held our hearts from His keeping, 

We held our ej^es from Hís face; 
We looked to the ways of our fathers, 

Denying where they denied, 
And we said as He passed, " He is stilled at last, 

And a man is crucified." 

But now I give you certain neius 

To bid a world rejoice: 
Ye may crush Truth to silerice, 

Ye may cry above his voice, 
Ye may dose your ears before Him, 

Lest ye tremble at the word, 
But late or soon, by night or noon, 

The living truth is heard. 

We buried our God in darkness, 

In secret and ali aífright ; 
We crept on a path of silence, 

Fearful things in the night; 
We buried our God in terror, 

After the fashion of men ; 
As we said each one, "The deed is done, 

And the grave is closed again." 

145 



RESVRGAM 

But now I give you certain news 

To spread by land and sea: 
Ye may scourge Truth nakcd, 

Ye may nail him to the tree, 
Ye may roll the stone ah ove Hhn, 

And seal it priestly-wise, 
But açainst the morn, unmai?ned, new-born^ 

The living Truth shall risef 



146 



THE BALLAD OF THE CROSS 

/\/\ ELCHIOR, Gaspar, Balthazar— 
^ * Great gifts they bore and meet; 
White linen for Hís body fair 

And purple for His feet; 
And golden things — the joy of kings — 
And myrrh to breathe Hím sweet. 

It was the shepherd Terish spake, 

** Oh, poor the gift I bring — 
A little cross of broken twígs, 

A hind's gift to a king — 
Yet, haply, He may smile to see 

And know my offering." 

And it was Mary held Her Son 

FuU softly to her breast, 
''Great gifts and sweet are at Thy feet 

And wonders king-possessed, 
O little Son, take Thou the one 

That pleasures Thee the best." 

It was the Christ-Child in her arms 

Who turned from gaud and gold, 
Who turned from wondrous gifts and great, 



147 



THE BALLAD OF THE CROSS 

From purple woof and fold, 
And to His breast the cross He pressed 
That scarce His hands could hold. 

'Twas king and shepherd went their way- 
Great wonder tore tfieir bliss ; 

'Twas Mary clasped her little Son 
Close, close to feel her kiss, 

Jnd in His hold the cross lay cold 

Beíween her heart and His! 



148 



THE WOMANS THANKS 

HTHERE is so much strong men are thankful for — 
A nat!on's progress, or a slovv strife's end ; 
And though I join my praise with theirs to-day, 
Grave things are these I scarce can comprehend, 
So vast are they ; 
And so apart, dear God, I pray Thee take 
My thanks for these Thy little blessings' sake. 

The little, common ioys of every day, 
My garden blowing in an April wind, 

A linnet's greeting and the morning fali 
Of happy sunshine throiigh the opened blind, 
The poplars tall 
That guard my threshold, and the peace that falis 
Like Sabbath stillness from my humble walls. 

The little, simple joys that we forget 

Until we lose them ; for the lamp that lights 

The pages of the books I love the best, 
The hearth's red welcoming on winter nights, 
The kindly jest 
That moves within its circle, and the near 
Companionship of those the heart holds dear. 



149 



THE WOMAWS THANKS 

The dear, accustomed joys we lightly take 
Too much for granted sometimes, as a child 

His father's gifts; and, so remembering, 
For these my thanks, for these my treasures piled, 
Each simple thing 
Those wiser niay forget, dear Father, take 
My thanks for these Thy little blessings' sake. 



150 



A GHOST 

T^O-DAY I entertained a ghost — 

And yet he carne ín live man's guise, 
Wíth ready hands to greet his host, 

And living eyes. 
I touched his hand and watched his smile, 

I answered to the words he said, 
And marveled, knowing ali the while, 

The man was dead. 

For I had known him quick indeed, 

With life of tears and life of mírth, 
A living heart to beat and bleed, 

A thing of earth. 
And even I had watched him die 

Seeing these live things quitting him, 
As when a soul goes quietly 

And eyes grow dim. 

But this ghost looked with living eyes, 

And this ghost's hand was warm to touch. 
Perchance had I not been so wise, 

Knowing too much, 
I had not guessed what horror springs 

When these unliving walk again, 
Bereft of love and hate — such things 

As make live men. 



151 



THE NEW MOON 

[A Wood in lonia. Teleon and Chloe] 

TELEON 

"\A7H\' do you shiver? Has the air grown chill? 

Your hand seems almost lifeless in my hold— 

Like some white flower frost hath touched to kill. 

CHLOE 

Is it your hand or mine that has grown cold ? 
Nay, let mine go. How silent is the night — 
DuU as drugged slumber and as void of dreams. 
Have you no speech? 

TELEON 

But yestermonth how bright 
The moon was — like a hundred golden streams 
Poured down at oncc from Heaven was its light. 

CHLOE 

You spoke not of it then ; you only said — 

TELEON 

What said I? Ah, have you forgotten quite? 

152 



THE NEW MOON 



CHLOE 



Why raise the ghosts of sweet words that are dead ? 

We have no words to-night, we only know 

Something most exquísite and gloríous 

Has gone from us, who might not watch ít go, 

Leaving these empty, soulless shells of us, 

Empty of feeling, as a stringless lute 

Is dumb of music. And I know not why. 

TELEON 

I may not answer. AU my heart is mute 

Like a stunned thing. I only know that I 

Am beggared of ali bliss, who yesterday 

Was as a king, who knew none kinglier 

In joy of living and my right to say, 

" Mine! Mine! the arms, the eyes, the mouth of her! 

Who took from me this wondrous herítage, 

This birthright of desire ? 

CHLOE 

Ah ! ask me not. 
What matters it that once in some gold age 
Two dreamed and kissed and wondered — and forgot. 

TELEON 

Forgot ! Wili you forget ? 

153 



THE NEfV MOON 



CHLOE 



It is my prayer. 
The gods are kind. What profit may there be 
In weaving withered garlands for one's hair— 
Poor, scentless aftermaths of ecstasy! 



TELEON 



I crowned you once with flowers — poppíes red 
As a maid's mouth that waits her lover's kiss. 



CHLOE 

How your hands trembled! 

TELEON 

And the words you said ? 

CHLOE 

" o Love, I ask no queenlíer crown than thís.'* 
And there was silence for a little space. 

TELEON 

I saw the great tears gather to your eyes, 
And then — 

154 



THE NE IV MOON 

CHLOE 

Why then, your kisses on my face. 
Full noon it was, and over us the skíes 
Arched like the dome of some great temple, blue 
As Vénus' eyes; the siin, that fíame that stirs 
Ever upon her altar, and we two 
Hígh Priests, with ali the birds for choristers. 

TELEON 

It was a holy spot vvherein we stood. 
Think you the path is lost ? 

CHLOE • 

Hark! Heard you? 



TELEON 



Yea, 



Methought I heard a bird song in the wood — 
A bird that wakens in a dream of day. 

CHLOE 

How wonderful his voice this moonless night ! 

There was a night I heard another song 

Come through the wood like that; the world was white 

With the new Spring; you had been absent long 

On a far journey; and, too sad for fear, 

155 



THE NEW MOON 

I carne alone to this our trysting place, 
With little hope; when sudden, far and clear, 
I heard your voice that sang, and ali the space 
Between us straight was bridged with melody 
Whereon my heart met yours ere yet you carne. 
Yet seemed the coming over-long to me. 

TELEON 

I caught your hands in mine and said your name 
Once only — and was dumb for very bliss. 

CHLOE 

How swift the night went by! How glad we were! 
And in your hands my two hands lay like this. 

TELEON 

And thus I kissed you, lips and brow and hair. 
Ah, but you tremble ! 

CHLOE 

Hark! that bird anew. 
Listen, nay listen, hear how loud he sings? 

TELEON 

Give me your hands. 

CHLOE 

Ah, but he sings not true. 
That is a song of Spring's, a song of Spring*s, 
And this is Winter. 

156 



THE NEW MOON 



TELEON 



Now, if Spríng be gone, 
She comes again, for in this heart of mine 
A something breaks ín blossom, and the sun 
Thrills in my veins and stirs my blood like 



ike wme. 



CHI.OE 



And I — 1 know not if to laugh or weep. 

My heart is as a prisoned thing set free, 

A wakened thing that starts new-born from sleep. 

What means this joy? 

TELEON 

Look in my eyes and see. 
How beautiful you are! 

CHLOE 

Nay, but my eyes 
Are drowned in yours. 

TELEON 

Ah, closer — closer still. 

CHLOE 

Kíss from my lips their sacrilege and h*es, 
Ere this new Wiss grow great enough to kill, 
These h*ps that said, " I love no more! " 

157 



THE NEW MOON 

TELEON 

But see! 
What light is this? 

CHLOE 

Perchance that glad bird's tune 
Made visible, fine gold. 

TELEON 

Nay, heart of me, 
Lean from my arms and turn and look. 

CHLOE 

The Moon ! 

TELEON 

The New Moon that is builded of the old, 
The Old Moon born again into the New. 

[Silence^ 

CHLOE 
Its light hath crowned your head with very gold. 

TELEON 

There is no light could make your eyes more blue! 



158 



THE LA ST SONG ^ 

T COME from a long joiírney and a sore, 

My feet are bleeding where the thorns have 
pressed, 
Yet have I passed by many an open door — 
(Only within your arms may I íind rest.) 

I come from sound of little souls at play, 
From empty laughter that may never cease, 

From joys grown hideous and mirth grown gray — 
(Only within j^our arms may I fínd peace.) 

I come a wanderer who naught may bring 
Of any gladness from the road he went, 

Save one sad heart that cries your comforting — 
(Only within your arms is my content.) 



159 



FEB 3 tm 



One copy dei. to Cat. Div. 



ÍEB 3 %m 



LIBRARY OF t;>J^,V;"",,^n 




